


His Last Laugh

by YesMyLord (EternalGhost)



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-06
Updated: 2013-09-06
Packaged: 2017-12-25 19:12:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/956663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EternalGhost/pseuds/YesMyLord
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is his last laugh, and what a grand one it will be. It is one that will go down in history, to be remembered for ages to come.</p>
<p>This contains spoilers for the manga. If you haven't read the part where they're on the ship, or anything past that, and you don't want to know, don't read this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Last Laugh

**Author's Note:**

> Just a drabble about my favourite Kuro character. He was one of my favourites before we ever saw his face; the fact that he's ridiculously pretty and a bad guy (I've always had a soft spot for villains) is just a bonus.

A solitary figure stood in the shadows, cloaked all in black, lounging against the side of the dilapidated building he had called home all these years. He tilted his head up with a bitter-sweet smile, to look at the crooked sign that declared for all who they would find inside. The paint was somewhat faded and peeling, and he knew the inside of the building was covered in dust and cobwebs. That thought made him sad for a moment – he'd had no time for his special guests or the beautiful coffins that were their final resting place, acting, as he had been for the past months, as the principal of Weston College – but a manic grin soon stretched itself across his face once more. None of that mattered anymore. After tonight, nothing would matter. With that thought in mind he pushed himself away from the wall and strode out into the street, skipping over the pits and puddles with a giggle. His hat slid off his head to land on the rain-slick road, revealing a mess of long silver hair. Dexterous fingers undid his top cloak, twirling it off with a flourish and letting it drop by his hat. Underneath, he wore a tighter, thinner coat, buttoned to his waist and parted to reveal more black – pants and thigh-high buckled boots made of supple, shining leather. With a wholehearted laugh he launched himself into the air, coming to rest light as a feather atop one of the many buildings lining the street. The wind caught his hair, blowing it about his head like a twisted halo, and for a moment his face was fully revealed; beautiful despite the scar cutting across the otherwise unmarred porcelain features, the preternatural green Shinigami eyes glowing with an inner madness. From rooftop to rooftop he bounded, skipping, twisting, always laughing.

Finally, his moment had come. The little earl Phantomhive was no longer the only one the Queen called to for help, and he had given her something the child never could – an army. A beautiful, undead army, completely loyal, flawlessly honest. Really, they could not talk back, question orders, or tell lies. He had finally perfected them and he had never been happier.

Reaching his destination, the mighty clock tower, he sent off the pre-arranged signal, Then, he waited. Moments later the terrified screams began to reach his ears, growing louder and closer by the second as his beautiful army began to sweep over the royal city. Like a crazed puppeteer he was, arm spread wide, swaying back and forth to a tune only he could hear, head tipped back, mouth split in a wide grin. A laugh ripped from him, straight from his very soul, sounding like something out of a nightmare. They would come for him, all of them, and this time there would be no escape, but nor would he be the rabbit, running scared – not that he ever was; indeed, the others had been the ones worried that night on the ship: they hadn't expected him, or what he was – and he would wait right where he was. His final stand would be perfect, and he would go down in history, no longer merely the Undertaker, good only for corpses and information. No, he would be so much more, never to be forgotten. This was his last laugh, and how beautiful it was.

“Let them come!” He called to the wind. “Let them join me in this marvelous dance, and together we shall laugh our way to death!”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and concrit feed my muse!


End file.
